


Hellhound on My Trail

by thetsaria



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Hellhounds, M/M, Paranormal, Post-Reichenbach, Suicide, Supernatural Elements, Ten Years Later Arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 16:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetsaria/pseuds/thetsaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes made a crossroads deal. But what for?</p>
<p>Based upon this gifset: http://doomslock.tumblr.com/post/29592573621</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hellhound on My Trail

**Author's Note:**

> When I wrote this I had only seen up until the first couple episodes of Season 6 of Supernatural. So pardon any inconsistencies if we learn more about crossroads deals later in the series!

_Ten years ago, Sherlock Holmes made a deal._

_He researched demons, collected the necessary items, and buried them in the dirt of a crossroad in the rural countryside north of London._

_Ten years ago to this day, Sherlock Holmes was condemned to hell._

He took a deep breath. The deep growling that could be heard across the moor was intensifying: he suddenly felt very alone, regardless of the Winchester standing beside him. The circle of goofer’s dust that he stood in seemed useless against the invisible creatures, now.

Dean had been yelling something at him, the majority of which he’d filtered out, but now was quiet. The growling paused for a moment before resuming at a lower volume. 

Sherlock slowly turned his head towards the other man. “They’re here,” he stated plainly, as if this information did not disturb him in any way.

His old friend knew differently, however, and Dean read the fear in the detective’s eyes, even if it did not show on his face. “What in the hell was the deal for, Sherlock?” he demanded. 

He shook his head, smiling weakly. 

_Ten years and a week ago, John Watson died._

_Sherlock Holmes had returned to Baker Street after three years of hell on Earth – not literally, but almost there – to find his best friend and soulmate, his doctor, his better half, had committed suicide not less than a month before._

_Sherlock would give anything to bring him back._

_Anything._

These ten years had been a blessing. Never before had he imagined he would be able to spend this much time with the man he cared for – the one he loved with all of his heart. 

"It doesn’t matter now," Sherlock spoke, sighing in feigned annoyance, as if this event were no more than one of Lestrade’s more tiresome, obvious murder cases.

He turned back in the direction of the growling. He didn’t want to fight it. He knew very well what he had been getting into when he made the deal, and he didn’t regret it in the slightest. Ten years with John had been enough. Ten years with John had been all he could have ever asked for.

Sherlock Holmes had said his goodbyes, though the other parties had not known they would be final. He was ready. 

"Tell John I love him," he murmured, closing his eyes.

"Sherlock, goddamnit, stop it, we can save you, we can get Cas to help us –"

"I rather doubt Castiel would help one like me. Even if he wished, I believe ownership of my soul was passed to one of the higher ranking demons as a result of my association with you." He sighed. "Never fear, Dean. I am sure we will meet again, some other time."

The hellhounds were closing in, now. One stood directly in front of the circle the two men were enclosed in, and breathed heavily on the line of goofer’s dust, breaking it.

Dean’s eyes widened, and he stepped backwards, grabbing onto the detective’s coat. “Sherlock, we gotta run –”

“ _You_  have to run, Dean Winchester. I am staying right here.”

He closed his eyes as he felt two massive paws push him to the ground. For once in his life, Sherlock Holmes did not fight back. 

"Goodbye, John," he whispered, as the jaws closed around his throat. 


End file.
